


the truth no one knows

by PreseaMoon



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:42:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26851630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PreseaMoon/pseuds/PreseaMoon
Summary: Nero and the worst babysitting job of his life.
Comments: 9
Kudos: 99





	the truth no one knows

**Author's Note:**

> the tiny them are so cute i can neither contain nor express myself. somehow it resulted in this, which is not particularly cute honestly. There's a lot of nonsense and a lot ruminating here, and this is expected of me tbh. idk i'm just messing around.

“So,” Nero says, sitting on the couch in Devil May Cry’s office.

When he arrived, instead of being greeted by the sight of Dante sleeping at his desk, or Dante at all, he found Trish perched on the desk’s edge waiting for him. She told him to take a seat, and shortly after, Lady made her way down the stairs, her expression brightening at the sight of him but saying nothing outside an initial greeting.

Some idle chit chat was made. Then, nothing. Silence.

He gets the impression all of them are waiting for something. Dante, most likely, considering where they are. So he asks. “Is Dante in the shower or something?” Although he knows it’s not the case; in this place you can hear when the water’s running.

Trish smiles. “No. Dante is somewhat indisposed at the moment. Same for Vergil, before you ask.”

“Oh.” Nero’s brow creases, and then he really thinks about what she’s just said. “Wait. What does that mean? Indisposed?”

If they were hurt, he would have been contacted, right? They wouldn’t have just hoped it blew over while assuming he wouldn’t drop in with little notice. They’re way too composed for that to be the case. Plus, after Urizen and each other and literal hell, he’s not too sure what out there could put either of them out of commission even temporarily.

“Do demons get sick?” he asks as the thought occurs, and then amends, “Half-demons.”

“Demons don’t,” Trish answers. “Not in the way you might assume anyway. As for half-demons,” she shrugs a shoulder, “you’d have to ask them, but I’ve never seen Dante contract a human illness.”

“Me neither,” Lady adds from where she’s leaning next to the door. Her arms are crossed and she seems distracted. Her gaze keeps to the staircase, but when Nero looks he doesn’t see anything out of place.

“So?” Nero tries again, when the silence returns. “Listen, if something happened you should just tell me. What dumbass thing did they do this time?”

Trish and Lady share a brief look. Trish pushes away from the desk and saunters toward him. “Unfortunately, they aren’t in condition to let us know,” she says wryly. “They’ve been cursed. Possibly hexed.”

“Cursed?” Nero doesn’t mean to sound that skeptical but he can’t help it. Though, Dante is exactly the type of person he would expect to get himself cursed.

“Whatever it was didn’t leave any trace of itself behind. It could be a curse, a hex, both, something else entirely. We don’t know. If not for the fact they’re obviously… afflicted, it wouldn’t be apparent anything’s wrong at all.”

Nero nods along, like he’s understanding. “Okay, sure. And what’s wrong is… what, exactly?” She’s dragging this out long enough that worry is starting to erode his patience. Something tells him snapping at Trish isn’t something he wants to do, though.

A short silence settles, and is promptly filled by Lady saying, “You any good with kids, Nero?”

Nero blinks. Well, that came out of nowhere. 

While they’ve taken in a handful of orphans, Nero wouldn’t really call himself “good” with them. He’s decent at the financial provision portion of parenting and pretty subpar when it comes to everything else. Though he tries, trying isn’t always enough when it comes to handling young kids still processing their own traumas.

Nero holds his hand out flat and shakes it. Middling is probably an accurate assessment of his ability.

“Good enough,” Lady says and pushes away from the wall. The two of them are kind of closing in on him, now. “Listen, we need you to keep an eye on things here while we check out the job those idiots were handling.”

“What?”

“Don’t worry, it’s a job like any other. You’ll get paid,” Trish says. “You said it’s been slow lately.”

“Yeah, but wait. Can we maybe rewind this conversation? I think I missed something. You want me to babysit? Uh. They need babysitting?”

Lady heaves a sigh. “Unfortunately. I don’t even want to imagine the trouble they’ll get themselves into if left alone.”

Nero swallows. “Can I see them?” 

He starts to push himself up from the sofa, but then Trish gestures for him to sit back down and calls out their names. Nero drops heavily back in his spot. There’s something wrong with them, so wrong that neither of them was out to receive him when he arrived. Yet, not so wrong that they can’t come out now.

There’s a thump from above them, which catches Nero’s attention but that Trish and Lady ignore entirely. Down the stairs comes one child, and then another behind that one, each with pure white hair.

Nero stares at them, eyes wide. He probably stares too openly, but it can’t be helped, the situation being what it is. There’s no way. That can’t be what they’re saying. On the other hand, it’s kind of weirdly preferable to the possibility he has some little siblings or cousins that have been in hiding until now. Isn’t it?

No, it might not be. At least that scenario is normal. This one is weird and fucked up.

They’re both small, obviously. Thin. Delicate in a way that only children are. Their white hair is almost too pristine in tone and their pale eyes are brighter than he’s ever seen them. They’re dressed in similar, plain clothes that at the very least seem new.

Both of them ignore Nero.

The one with hair flopping into his face, presumably Dante, rushes up to Trish and says, “Mom, can we play outside?” and Nero’s jaw drops, his brain short circuiting once and for all. It feeds him scenario after implausible scenario, because while Nero knows very little about his immediate family, he does know their mother was a human.

“I’m afraid not. Dante, Vergil, do you know who this is?”

Vergil, who’s come up behind Dante stares at him with a frown, like he thinks he’s supposed to know who Nero is. Assessing him, and it kind of makes Nero’s skin crawl because how old is he supposed to be? If his father is going to be a cold bastard even as a kid it’s almost too expected, honestly.

Meanwhile Dante’s brow furrows under his fringe and he walks right up to Nero to get a closer look at him. “No? But he looks a little like Dad. Right?” He looks to Vergil for confirmation of this, rather than Trish.

Vergil’s frown deepens, and he looks at Nero for only a moment longer before turning away. “Not really.”

Nero twitches, some part of him taking that as a dismissal of his heritage when it’s not. Or it’s not if they don’t remember him anyway.

“No, he definitely does,” Dante insists, and he moves forward again, hand reaching to… touch, Nero guesses, but Vergil grabs his other arm and yanks him back before he can. Dante pouts at the treatment, but doesn’t pull free. Instead he directs his pout to Trish. “You said we could play outside, though.”

Trish laughs. It’s a fond but not particularly gentle sound. “I didn’t, actually. If you want to outwit me, you’ll need to do better than that, little boy.” Then, she gestures to Nero and the twins follow the motion as she introduces him. “This is Nero. He’s going to keep an eye on you while we’re gone.”

“Who is he?” Vergil asks.

“A friend. Don’t worry, he’ll take good care of you both. Or you two think you’d be fine on your own?”

Vergil gives Nero one last, wary look but doesn’t say anything.

Dante attaches himself to Trish’s side. Something about the sight makes Nero’s heart ache, and he bows his head away from it. “Why do you have to go? Can’t we go with you? Can’t we at least go home? I miss my bed and our yard and our things.”

Trish pats his head carefully. “Because I have to. I’ll be back before you know it. So be good for Nero. Both of you.” She detaches Dante from her and gives Vergil a light ruffle that leaves some of his locks falling forward as she passes him.

She makes for the door that Lady’s already opened and Nero goes, “H-Hey wait. You can’t just— I mean, what the hell am I supposed to do with this?”

“Just keep them out of trouble until we’re back,” Trish says.

“And how long is that gonna be?”

Both the women shrug. “A week. A month. Who can really say. We don’t know what we’re looking for, after all.”

“Don’t worry, Nero. They’re just a couple of half-demon children. You’ll do fine,” Lady says as she shuts the door behind them, leaving Nero alone with a couple of half-demon children. Half-demon children who also happen to be his father and uncle. No big deal.

Nero sighs the heaviest sigh of his life and starts dragging his hands down his face. “Fuck my life.” He probably shouldn’t swear in front of them. His hands still halfway down his face. Looking between his fingers he finds two young faces staring back at him.

They’re identical. More identical than he really would have thought. In the present, there’s been too much drift, in experience, in environment, in personality. Everything. When Dante smiles, it’s not an expression Nero can superimpose on his father’s face. Likewise, the piercing ice in Vergil’s gaze isn’t something compatible with Dante’s demeanor.

Right now, though? The only clear difference between the two is that one’s expression is open while the other’s is closed.

Nero runs his tongue over his teeth and sits back, sets his ankle up on his knee in an effort to look casual. “So, uh. How old are you two?”

“Seven,” Dante tells him, holding out and wiggling the appropriate amount of fingers as he does so.

Nero nods. He wonders, idly, if this would be easier or harder if they were toddlers. Thank god they aren’t teenagers. “Very cool. Uh…”

“Can we play outside?” Dante asks, but he’s already moving for the door and Vergil is following after him. 

“Hey, let’s not do that,” Nero says, getting up from his seat. Instinctively, he goes to pull Dante back, but at the glare Vergil gives him he settles for blocking their path. Right, he’s a stranger and they’re seven. No touching.

Nero keeps a hand on the door, just in case they make a break for it. “Trish, err… Your mom? Said no going outside. Like, she said that five minutes ago.” For whatever reason, but he thinks he can guess why. These are a pair of very recognizable demon children, who know they’re demons, and are liable to vanish the second he turns his back.

“But it’s so boring,” Dante complains, scuffing at the floor. “There’s nothing to do.”

“What? There’s plenty to do. Just gotta get creative.” Nero has no idea what the fuck he’s saying. There’s no way this place is child safe or has shit children should be playing around with. There are devil arms around here somewhere. Nero doesn’t even know where. There are weapons mounted on the wall behind Dante’s desk.

Nero tenses as Dante spins, giving the room a look for what he could possibly play with. Since Vergil’s been here the place has gradually become less of a disaster, less junk and garbage strewn about, fewer posters and magazine pages haphazardly stuck to the walls, newer and cleaner furniture, but Dante still lives here. The weapons on the wall aren’t even locked behind a case or anything, but this small Dante doesn’t give them a second look or linger on them. Small favors. Nero really doesn’t want to wrestle a gun out of a kid’s hand. If any of them gets shot they’ll live, he thinks, but god it’d suck.

Dante wanders over to the jukebox and frowns at it, presses at a few of the buttons randomly and groans.

Nero does feel a pang of sympathy. There aren’t any toys. He’s pretty sure all the books here are about demons or the occult or similarly weird, not child-friendly shit. There’s no tv and the place still doesn’t have internet, no matter how many times Nero’s told Dante he needs to get on it. A radio is on the desk, but Nero already has minimal faith in Dante’s ability to sit still and listen to anything for an extended period of time.

“Hey, maybe we’ll go for a walk later, alright?” Nero offers as a compromise.

Dante’s face scrunches up immediately. “A walk?”

“Don’t know if you’ve noticed, kid,” and Nero’s insides are twisting inside out at this reversal, “but we’re in a city. You don’t have some big, private yard all to yourself and your brother to play in.”

“That’s even better,” Dante says, bright and totally unconcerned. “We can explore, right, Vergil?”

Vergil gives Nero a sidelong glance. “He’s not going to let us out, Dante, so you should just give up.”

Nero blinks. He’ll take it if it actually helps, but there’s something in Vergil’s tone that rubs Nero the wrong way. Rather than understandable sulking at the way things have turned out, there’s a sort of downtrodden resignation towards their lot. Like they’re being kept somewhere against their will or something, and maybe on some level they are, but also seven year olds don’t get to just wander the streets as they please. Even seven year olds know that.

“You don’t gotta be like that, you know. I’m not gonna keep you two locked up in here. Knowing how this place is kept, I bet we’re gonna run out of food in a day or two anyway. So we’ll do some grocery shopping together.”

Ordering food every day would get expensive fast, and while he could try his luck having groceries delivered, it’s not like he wants to keep them locked up all day every day until Trish and Lady return. If they want to go outside, Nero wants to give them that in whatever capacity he can. And if it turns out to be the stupidest idea Nero’s ever had, well, he’ll deal with it then.

Not to tempt fate, but what’s the worst that could happen?

Nero sighs again. It’s going to be a long week. Or month. Or, god, what if it’s permanent? There’s no guarantee they’ll find a solution. Why does he live a life where he even has to consider the possibility of raising his own father and uncle to adulthood? He massages his temples.

When he opens his eyes the twins are looking at him.

Right. Well. Time to be the one in charge.

Things go deceptively okay at first. Ground rules are established both ways, through trial and error, of course, because apparently even as children his father and uncle weren’t big on the whole communication thing. Only, now when Nero gets frustrated with them he feels like an asshole.

Most of Nero’s rules can be simplified to “please ask first” and “no fighting.” Unfortunately, the two of them just can’t seem to stop themselves from wrestling and rolling across the lobby floor like it’s the primary solution to their near perpetual boredom. Somehow, there is always blood. Not a little bit of blood, either, but enough to warrant a hospital visit if they were human children. By the time Nero will check for injuries there are never any to find. They deny it got that bad in the face of mouthfuls of blood and stained clothes, and then blame each other so fiercely it nearly sparks a new fight regardless of Nero’s presence.

It’s a little disconcerting, honestly, just in general. The nonchalance with which they hurt each other, only to then be put out when it’s deemed that way. Like that’s not what they’re doing, like if there haven’t been tears shed and hurt feelings then it’s fine. They treat blood and biting and slamming each other to the ground as a game. That’s acceptable roughhousing when your brother is getting on your nerves a little too much. Somehow.

Chalk his discomfort with it up to Nero’s sensitive human sensibilities, he guesses.

One of these times Nero is going to find a tooth. Or someone is going to cry. Or one of them is going to get stabbed. Then, Nero will really have to sit them down and give each of them a thorough talking to about knowing where to draw the line.

But until that day, which hopefully doesn’t come, he’s stuck with exasperation as he pulls them away from each other. Every time he has to place himself physically between them so they can’t reach each other, because they don’t respect him enough to stop at his say so. Story of his fucking life.

As for rules the other way, they’re a little more vague but just as simple. Most of them boil down to keeping his distance and not asking personal questions. Nero does both anyway, because it’s kind of inevitable with their behavior and how awkward it can get. Plus, sometimes curiosity gets the better of him, he can’t help it. Like, are they missing school or something?

The answer to that is no, by the way. Probably for the best. Nero doesn’t really want to think about them around normal human children even as children themselves. This whole thing is a jarring reminder, in a way, that his father and especially his uncle are not humans with demon powers. For all that they can give the impression otherwise, they are just as demon as they are human, if not more so, and it manifests more and more with every passing day.

The two of them don’t sleep as much as human children. Bedtime sort of doesn’t exist and every day is Nero trying in vain to outlast their energy. Their appetites aren’t the same, either. They’re as picky as human children, but aren’t fazed by hunger. If Nero serves them something they don’t want to eat, then they just don’t eat and suffer no ill effects as the day drags on. They treat food like it’s a luxury instead of a necessity.

Nero tries reasoning with them, but it’s impossible to get anywhere productive when they act like he’s bullshitting them.

They seem to be living human lives, but don’t really have any concept of what it means to be human on a fundamental level. How could they, though, when they aren’t human and apparently weren’t raised to be.

Nero finds it sad in a distant way, but maybe he shouldn’t. It’s just the way they are.

On their third day together they go grocery shopping. It’s hell in its own way. Vergil disappears almost instantly to who knows where. Nero keeps an eye out while he makes his way through the store, but Dante is such a handful he can’t divert his attention elsewhere for long. The kid touches everything, tries to climb two separate displays, and opens no less than five packages Nero has no intention of paying for. 

Nero will tell him to stop, and he does, but minutes later he’s completely discarded the instruction because doesn’t this snack look so interesting, though?

Nero is gonna lose it.

This is his father’s spite, Nero suspects. If Vergil were around he’d be smacking Dante’s hands away from the shelves and telling him to knock it off, he’s sure. And Dante would obey, at least for longer than he obeys Nero.

Whatever ounce of respect for him they have might be degrading by the hour.

Nero swears, if those two come back and try to back out of paying him because “that’s what family does for each other” he really will lose it.

Vergil shows up out of nowhere when Nero is paying. Nero half-expects him to drop something on the counter even though everything’s already been paid for, but he doesn’t. He just looks over the groceries with casual interest, then talks with Dante about whatever it was he was getting up to.

“Since you ditched us, I don’t wanna hear any complaints about what’s being served for dinner or lunch or any other meal. Got it?” Nero tells him as they make their way down the street.

“I don’t really care,” Vergil answers, and he walks up from behind them, pushing Dante to the side so he can stand between them.

His father has an unexpected streak of big brother instinct. Nero isn’t sure whether he finds that wholesome or just sort of tragic. It’s probably a good thing, all things considered, because it means no matter how much of an asshole he may be, it’s not absolute. In his own way, he cares.

Or, he did when he was seven, anyway.

“Uh-huh. You say that now, but just wait. You’re gonna be jealous when Dante and I like dinner and you think it’s gross and messy.”

“We like a lot of the same things.”

“Oh yeah? I wouldn’t have guessed.” 

As far as Nero’s seen in the present the two are night and day. The common ground between them lies only in where their light shines, violence. Maybe that’s why they wanted to kill each other, because it was the only way they knew to meet in the middle.

So fucking stupid.

As for the little ones, Nero can’t really say yet. While they’re clearly different, and revel in mutual destruction, there’s harmony in their coexistence. They’ll say the same thing at the same time, which is something Nero’s never seen the older versions of them do. They have whole conversations without a single word ever being said. Though, for all Nero knows they might be telepathic, whether through freaky twin shit or weird demon shit.

“We are twins, after all,” Vergil says.

Nero blinks at that, taken aback for a reason he can’t quite place. “Yeah. I guess you are. Something the matter?” he asks when Vergil sighs.

Vergil scowls at the ground. “Nothing.”

“Well, if you don’t want me to worry, maybe you shouldn’t sigh so loudly. Just, y’know, for future reference.”

“Worry?”

“Yeah.” Nero lightly thwaps the back of Vergil’s head before he can think better of it. “You’re under my care, so of course I’m gonna worry about you.”

The darkened sign of Devil May Cry enters view, far down the street. Dante takes a few steps ahead. Then he’s rushing into a sprint, telling Vergil to race him.

In their brief moment alone, Nero says, “I know you don’t trust me. That’s fine, I get it, but I’m here for you either way. With whatever, so yeah.”

The only indication Vergil gives that he heard him is a faint jerk of his head, and then he’s chasing after Dante, yelling how he’s given himself a headstart so it doesn’t count.

They’re not so bad, really. These kids. They’re nuisances and don’t listen, but what kid isn’t like that from time to time.

When Nero’s made it to them he finds Vergil’s tackled Dante to the ground and is keeping him grappled there, knee digging into his back in a way it really shouldn’t be. He’s demanding Dante concede to a draw, because that’s the most he’ll allow him for a race that wasn’t agreed upon. Running after him does not mean he agreed to it, no matter how much Dante insists otherwise.

Nero would pull Vergil off him, but no touching is still in play. And while Dante is wiggling about, he doesn’t seem to be distressed. There are some scrapes, but not much blood.

Nero settles for gently tapping Vergil with one of the grocery bags. “Come on, if you’re going to do this, can’t you at least do it inside? A report to child services is the last thing we need.”

Vergil turns to look at him, but it’s Dante who asks, voice muffled against the pavement, “What’s that?”

“An organization that likes to ask questions like ‘why are all of your kids’ clothes covered in blood?’ and ‘why aren’t your kids attending school?’ and if they don’t like the answers, they come, and make you go to school.”

They both stare at him, bewildered, not understanding a word he’s said, but Vergil’s grip on his brother has loosened, so it’s good enough for Nero. He opens the door and extends his arm. “In.”

Inside Devil May Cry they start preparing dinner. The kitchen is the most pathetic thing Nero’s ever seen. Dante’s been living here, what, longer than Nero’s been alive? And he doesn’t have half the basic kitchenware. No measuring cup, no strainer, no cutting board. No toaster. The man doesn’t even own a can opener. There are, however, roughly ten different bottle openers and corkscrews. Why, Nero has no idea, it’s not like Dante actually needs them.

Dante is a true enigma. Or possibly just an idiot who’s failed to pick up any practical life skills in forty-ish years of life.

Nero is not buying that shit for him, so he’s stuck to meals that can be cooked in the oven, the stove, and the ancient looking microwave with a crack through its screen. If it explodes on Nero’s watch he’s going to be pissed and is not going to replace it.

He puts Dante and Vergil to work, having them fill a pot and heat the oven, set out some places at the table for a sad imitation of a family dinner. The closest Nero is probably ever going to get. Not that he’s too eager to have a sit down dinner with a couple of emotionally stunted men who only consume alcohol and junk, if anything.

With a couple of demon kids who eat for show it does manage to have some charm, though. Nero can’t say he’s mad at it. It’s kind of nice even, warm, with the way they lightheartedly bicker and laugh and pull Nero into some of their conversations.

In another life, maybe this is how things would have been from the start.

After a week and a half Nero and the twins start to wear on each other in the worst way. Impatience with the situation and the monotony caused by it leaves them all on edge. This is mostly from the kids, but it doesn’t take long for it to osmose through Nero’s own mood. There’s more fighting, less listening, and Nero struggles to contain his mounting irritation in the face of twin efforts to find his buttons and push them until he snaps.

Demon children, indeed.

Tempers are lost. There’s shouting. If Nero’s own voice raises in response it’s not deliberate.

The rising tension ultimately culminates two days later, in Dante running out of the office. His limit for tolerating why they’re here instead of home and their mother’s absence is finally reached. He doesn’t appreciate Nero’s attempts to control them. He’s tired of listening to him.

It’s a miserable day for running off. Hard rain and harder winds. The midday sun so thoroughly blocked it might as well be dusk. At least it’s not freezing. Though, if it were freezing maybe Dante would come back on his own sooner rather than later.

Nero should go after him.

It’ll be dark before they know it and this city isn’t the safest.

He knows he needs to, but instead Nero sits at Dante’s desk, in Dante’s chair, with his face in his hands and regret igniting his nerves to a standstill.

What was he supposed to do? Say they’re meant to be thirty-something years older than they are, so stay put, do as he’s told, and be a good boy until they can fix it?

Maybe he should have. It would have at least caught him off guard enough for Nero to have the advantage for a minute longer than he did.

From the center of the room Vergil watches him, eyes tight with outrage and expectation. His jaw clenches, and after several long seconds he says, “You’re useless, so stay here. I’m getting Dante.”

Vergil dashes out the door before Nero has any chance to form a response, leaving the door open behind him. Stray rain pelts the entryway. Wind whistles through the cracks. The smack of footsteps on wet pavement fades in seconds.

They’ll be back. There’s nowhere they can go in this unknown city. They have no money. No contacts. No idea where they are in the entire world. Nero is their only option, and as much as that’s a good thing for him, it also makes Nero’s gut churn with guilt. He supposes he’d been underestimating it, just how trapped they might feel in this situation.

At one point Nero pulls on his coat and opens the door to the still raging storm. He has no idea how he’d find them or where to look, but it’s the right thing to do. If it were one of the kids at home that’s what he’d do. Why should it be any different now?

But Vergil’s words come back to him. Stay here, because they’ll be coming back, and it’s no good if he’s not here when they do.

Nero sighs and drops to the sofa.

He waits.

He’s not sure why he’s listening to a seven year old.

They return several hours later, well after the sun has set and the weather has calmed to steady drizzle. Rain has plastered their hair to their faces, obscuring their eyes, but it’s not hard to tell who’s who. Vergil’s hand is wrapped tight around his brother’s wrist and the bloodstains on Dante’s shirt have bled from the rain. They’re soaked through but neither of them are shivering. There’s not any fresh blood on them.

Vergil spares Nero a glance before stalking upstairs with Dante in tow. They leave a mess of puddles as they go.

Nero releases a breath he didn’t realize he was holding and tugs at his hair with both hands, cursing his own stupidity.

He can fix this, though, so after ten minutes he follows after them. Halfway down the hall Vergil comes out of the room they’ve been sharing. He’s changed into dry clothing and has pushed his hair back into its usual style, letting his glare hit Nero with its full impact.

“I should go apologize,” Nero says.

“No.”

“Uh. No?”

“No,” Vergil confirms, resolute. “An apology isn’t good enough, so stay away.”

“Even if you think it’s not, I should still give one. Because I am sorry, and Dante should know that.” But Nero doesn’t go to move around him. Vergil looks tempted to shove him over the railing. Not that he could. Hopefully.

Vergil’s jaw works but he tries to hide it. “You can’t say you’re worried for us, and then make us cry. You have to be better.” Coupled with the intensity of his eyes, the earnest plea in his tone is painful.

Nero looks at him, and then looks away with a sigh. “Come on.”

He heads back downstairs. He’s already resigned to Vergil not following, but he does. Nero goes to the kitchen and starts boiling some water. Somehow, among all the things Dante doesn’t own, there is a kettle. It’s a pretty nice one, clearly newer than anything else in the kitchen. Maybe Vergil bought it, but it’s still hard for Nero to picture his father participating in anything mundanely human.

Plus, Nero hasn’t found any tea or coffee. Only hot chocolate. Does his father like hot chocolate? The older version of him, that is. The younger one is going to be out of luck if he doesn’t.

While Nero pulls out three mugs and everything else, Vergil takes a seat at the table. His arms are at his side and he stares at the table like he’s in trouble.

Nero prepares the drinks, and then sets one of the steaming mugs in front of Vergil. “Alright. How about you tell me what’s going on.”

Vergil touches the mug’s handle. Eventually, he says, “That woman isn’t our mother.”

Nero’s eyes widen too instantaneously for him to catch. He fidgets in his seat and tries to think of something to say. All that comes out after a few minutes of sitting there is a very weak sounding, “What?”

“Dante knows, too.” Vergil gives Nero a significant look, accusational, like Nero should have known they’ve felt in danger all this time. Like he should have recognized that everything about this situation doesn’t line up for them.

“Why’d you two come back here, then? If you think that’s what’s going on.”

Vergil’s glare withers away. He keeps his eyes firmly in the cup. “Where would we go?”

Right. Whether Nero is a trusted family friend or a complete stranger doesn’t make a difference. They’re stuck relying on him either way. In this moment, they are rendered painfully human in their helplessness.

“Were you lying before?” Vergil asks. “When you said you worry for us. And will be here for us.”

“I meant what I said. I know I didn’t show it in the best way, but I just… This whole thing is hard for me, too. If you’re upset, if Dante is upset, I don’t know what to do. I’m trying. I’ll… be better.”

Vergil looks up at him, then, looking for the lie in his expression, and when he can’t find it seems flustered. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why care that much?” Vergil’s voice is so soft Nero wouldn’t have heard it if he wasn’t so focused on him.

Nero wonders if he should say, and then decides, fuck it. If they’re stuck this way, they should know, and if they aren’t it won’t matter later. He points to his head, his hair specifically. “This. We’re related. So I don’t really like seeing you, either of you, in pain. If you cry, I can’t help but want to make it better. Even if I’m the cause. Especially if I’m the cause.”

Vergil goes very still at this information. He glances up at him, but is quick to bring his gaze back down. “You? How...?” he asks very slowly. “Did Father…” He doesn’t finish wherever that thought was going and his brow furrows.

“Don’t think on it too hard. It’s a long story. True, though, so don’t go calling me a liar, okay?”

Vergil hums. After a few minutes of processing this information he stands up. “Give me that other cup. Or else Dante’s going to take mine.”

Nero laughs quietly. “Yeah, I’m sure he will. Here,” he says, handing him a tray to place both mugs on. “And if you need anything else. Y’know. That’s what I’m here for. Well, that, and making you two don’t get yourselves killed.” Or anyone else.

After a few steps Vergil stops. “I don’t think you’re a liar.”

“But?”

“But you’re not trustworthy”

“I would expect nothing less.”

Vergil remains where he is for a moment longer. He says. “I’ll tell Dante what you said. So you better be ready to make it up to us.”

“Of course.”

Then, his father leaves the room and Nero lets out a long, shuddering breath. He runs a hand through his hair. What the fuck. Why is he so intimidated by the seven year old version of his father? It’s almost worse that Nero can see the turmoil and confusion in his face. Kids are terrifying.

What he wouldn’t give for that impassive, glacial stare that gives nothing away right now.

What he wouldn’t give for Dante’s unflinching, infuriating flippancy.

Nero pulls his phone out of his pocket. He needs a progress report, a status update, some reassurance, anything. Will this be another week? Another month? Have they found anything? It sure as hell doesn’t seem like this is something that’s going to resolve itself.

After unlocking his phone, Nero stares at the screen, fingers frozen on the contacts. Realization that he has neither Lady’s nor Trish’s number sinks in. They don’t really talk much in general. It’s always by way of Dante. They didn’t leave any emergency contacts for him and Nero never got the chance to ask.

Feebly, he looks around the kitchen, and then Dante’s desk. The walls around the desk. Nothing. He’s stuck at their mercy, whenever they happen to return or grace him with a call.

They definitely will return right. They definitely will call. This is a job. He says this to his reflection in the window.

His reflection tells him he’s a fucking idiot.

Nero is hard-pressed to disagree. 

Really, fuck his life.

But even so. It is his life, and his family, and whatever the answer he’ll push through, because that’s what he always does.


End file.
